


The Oiled Up Job

by shortitude



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Are They Together Or Not: A Braven fic, Con Artists, F/M, Just Bellamy's ego, Leverage AU, Mentions of Abusive Work Environments, Mentions of Slavery, Minor mentions of other canon characters, No Vegemite Jars Were Actually Hurt In The Making Of This Fic, Octavia Ships It (But Not In Her Face), Panic! At the not being able to write action, The Cages being trash people in this one too, Undercover, and his heart, badasses being badass, life of crime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-16 19:42:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4637841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shortitude/pseuds/shortitude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hitter. Grifter. Hacker. Thief. Mastermind. </p><p>Raven Reyes puts together a team to fight injustice in ways that sometimes skirt the lines of legality. It also skirts the lines of not mixing business with pleasure. </p><p>(Leverage AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Oiled Up Job

**Author's Note:**

  * For [growlery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/growlery/gifts).



> This is a treat for tumblr user **growlereish** , who wanted a Leverage au with Bellamy as the hitter and Raven as the mastermind. I loved loved LOVED Leverage when it was airing, and screamed at the chance of writing this sort of AU; as soon as I got started on the first paragraph, the characters pretty much wrote themselves. 
> 
> One more remark: once upon a time I warned **buries** I'd write her Aussie Bellamy eating vegemite. Here it is. You're welcome.

“No, no, _no_ , you’re not supposed to treat it like it’s Nutella.” 

What waits for her in the meeting room (the kitchen) that morning is definitely a show. Octavia is laughing so loud she could wake the dead; on the other side of the table, Bellamy is struggling to move around Nate, who has positioned himself as a protective wall between the team hitter and Monty, who is pulling spoonfuls of vegemite out of a jar, licking it and gagging melodramatically. She can tell what makes Octavia laugh so hard; the indignation on Bellamy’s face isn’t made up, he is honestly that unnerved by this behavior. 

“That’s just disrespectful,” Bellamy shoots over Nate’s shoulder at Monty, who shrugs like he has no idea he’s pissing off an entire country with this behavior, and puts the spoonful – including the bit he licked – back inside the jar. Raven might not be an expert in the kitchen, unlike Bellamy – who’s been in charge of feeding them all for as long as this team’s been a team – but even she knows that shit’s just rude. And whatever was holding Bellamy from throwing Nate fades away suddenly, which Raven spots and decides it’s time to make herself known. 

She clears her throat loudly, and everyone stops what they’re doing to look up at her, still on the last step of the staircase leading up to the upper-floor bedrooms. Octavia has laughed so hard she’s on the floor now, on all fours, one hand pressed to her stomach; laughter cramps, Raven assumes. 

She makes a sweeping gesture at their incredibly professional working environment. “This is… _not_ the weirdest thing I’ve ever come down to find, actually.” She hops down the remaining step, and winces a little when the old hip wound reminds her she’s not in her prime condition anymore. She pulls a face, and waves Bellamy away when it looks like he’s ready to catch her. “Coffee. Please. And, Green, when you’re done being a little shit, bring us up to speed.” 

\---

Their inside man on this one is a woman, actually. Clarke Griffin walks into their HQ at lunchtime like she knows the place; she does, having once been a permanent fixture in their lives. In spite of the cold shoulder she gave them all when she decided to take her business on the straight and narrow, she’s still welcomed back into the duplex because she comes with dirt. 

“Cage Industries,” she explains, after Octavia’s handed her a glass of water without so much as making eye contact; Raven watches the youngest Blake carefully, knowing that it’s bad if their grifter can’t make eye contact. She thinks of talking about it with Octavia later, but then she remembers that it’s fine, it’s okay for her teammates to feel hurt and refuse to be nice to the person who left them surrounded by the Interpol. To go _work_ for the Interpol. They’ll do their job anyway. 

“I found irregularities on one of their platforms. The guys – son and father – are exactly the sort of scum you’d imagine them to be. Socially charming, swimming in cash, climbed to the top on the backs of illegals they give little to no shits about. This one,” and she points them to a folder marked _Mount Weather_ , the name of one of the biggest petrol rig this side of the Atlantic, “is more like a sect than a job opportunity. Hotel California stuff, you can come in and work for them but you can’t leave. Their workers are tagged when they get there, work inhuman hours, and get below minimum wages.” 

“There are shit bosses everywhere,” Raven feels the need to cut in, because though she wants to bring down people the likes of the Cage family everywhere, the truth is that they’re like the hydra monster. One goes down, two more rise to take that head’s place. “What’s different about them?”

“They’re killing people,” Clarke supplies. “And tossing their bodies to the sea.” 

Bellamy tenses up next to her, and she knows without even looking around the table to the rest that they’re in. 

\---

They have one way onto the rig they need to exploit before going after Cage Industries with all they’ve got; they need dirt, more than what Clarke can supply them with, so it boils down to this. 

The day before he’s set to leave, she has Bellamy in her bedroom, sharing plans over a glass of whiskey. They’ll be in his ear the whole time, thanks to Monty’s tech, but this part before any job is their ritual. He takes a drink everytime he feels like there’s something which might go wrong, she takes one everytime she figures out countermeasures. Plan A to Z, always ready in her head. Tonight his glass is half empty, ignored in favour of him rubbing his thumb down the arch of her foot. 

She breathes out and lets her head fall back against the two seat couch, groaning when it feels good. “You can’t jump down anyone’s throat if they don’t eat things like they’re supposed to be eaten,” she warns him, nudging his stomach with her toes in jest. “Octavia gave you pointers for your alias, right?”

“Mm, son of refugees, born at sea and unregistered in either country of origin or the US. I’m an alien. Jesus, Reyes, do you have feet or just _knots_.” 

She groans in pain and doesn’t pull her foot away until it feels good, and then, “You’d better drop the accent.” 

“I thought you _liked_ my accent.” He exaggerates it on purpose, cooed at her while he pinches her toes in his fingers. She rolls her eyes, because it works and he almost distracts her. 

“A little,” she grouches out, then gives him half a grin. “Say ‘redecorate’.” 

He does. She laughs a little, and repeats it to herself, “Redickorate,” then squeals when he tugs her into his lap. 

“And that’s the last time I play that game,” he tells her, and grabs onto her wrists, bringing her arms behind her, clasped tight and pressed against the small of her back. 

“For a little while.” 

His expression shifts, one tiny hint of a smile. “For a little while.”

\---

John White, Bellamy’s assumed alias on this job, makes friends with one of his coworkers on the first day there by means of communicating through grunts. Raven thinks nothing of it, until the third time he responds to this Lincoln guy with a hum and Octavia leans against her with a bemused “Wow, he must really like the guy.” 

“Well, we have one way in,” Raven murmurs, and leans forward to press a button that connects her to Bellamy’s earpiece. “See if your new boyfriend knows what’s going on.” 

\---

The part she hates is the grifting. That’s Octavia’s area, and it’s how she met the Blakes in the first place. They tried to con her straight out of her favourite car, before she realized what the two of them could do if they put their skills to the better uses. 

Octavia and Bellamy are the weirdest siblings she’s ever met, both sharing one mother they don’t talk about often but whom she can tell they love and respect endlessly. There’s a sort of bond between them that runs so deep, sometimes Raven thinks that if it were ever a choice between the team and each other, the team would take the fall without hesitation. She envies them this closeness, because it reminds her of when she started in the business, cheating rich old men out of classic cars and reselling them with modifications back to them fifteen days later with Finn’s help. But Finn – well, she doesn’t think about Finn anymore, either. 

Whether the job goes well or poorly, she can count on the Blakes to keep them all afloat. Bellamy with his crazy man-killing skills he doesn’t like to talk about, and Octavia with the many personas she has on hand, and the quick thinking that keeps her on her feet. 

Usually, Raven joins in on these missions but stays in the background. Nate and O are better at playing roles than she is, but she likes to be on site in case things go south. 

Things go south. 

Octavia is sugaring up their targets so she can’t get down to sublevel four, and Nate is busy stealing the incriminating records that might actually bring this whole rig down legally, so Raven goes. She has Monty guiding her so she doesn’t go blindly, and she thinks she can make it in spite of her leg acting up. 

And then there’s darkness. 

\---

When she comes to, it’s to the sound of fighting up ahead. There’s one goon holding her up, arms behind her back, and Bellamy taking three at once with his bare hands. She thinks the absence of the foreman is a good sign, the guards haven’t called it in yet. So she jams her head back and hears the satisfying crack of a nose breaking, then throws a punch while the dizziness still hasn’t kicked in. 

Bellamy takes the other three out, and then drag their unconscious bodies into a broom closet and lock it up. 

“Well, that went well.” 

He gives her his patented _you’re insane_ look, and reaches up to touch the back of her head. His hand comes away clean, and he flashes her a grin. “Good job.”

“Had a good teacher.” 

“When you’re _done with the verbal quickie_ ,” Octavia hisses through their coms, “We’re done here. Escape boat?” 

Right, this part. The escape boat was a last minute addition to the plan that failed miserably, on account of all the insanely tight vigilance. She looks at Bellamy, and he shifts. 

“We could get the workers to back us and make it out of here together in the big boat.” 

“Re _bellion_. I like it. It’s not a fishing town in Alaska, but I _like_ it.” 

“Thought you would.” 

“ _Seriously_ ,” Octavia interrupts, again. “Seriously, I just knocked out the CFO of a major petrol company with a paperweight, could you _stop_ before I come down there and do the same to the two of you?”

Bellamy’s eyes crinkle, fondly. “Better go, she’s been getting better with her aim.”

“Heard that!”

\---

Then, her favorite part: watching a good plan have a happy ending. The State promises to compensate the people exploited by Cage Industries, but just in case the State lies – everybody lies, rule number one – Raven made sure to break into the rig’s safe where, what do you know, Dante Cage hid about ten million bucks from the IRS. Well, what the IRS didn’t know, couldn’t hurt the people who’d been treated like modern day slaves under the purposefully blissful nose of the government. 

All’s well that ends well and with creeps behind bars for a long list of crimes. 

After Clarke’s gift basket comes in, two bottles of champagne courtesy of _absolutely not the Interpol, what are you implying, Raven_ , the gang splits up. Monty and Miller retreat to celebrate by catching up on WoW, and Octavia decides she’s going to take this Lincoln guy out for a drink. 

With HQ silent, Raven manages to sleep in for a couple extra hours, after which the smell of coffee and toast wakes her. Unbothered, she directs a lazy grin to Bellamy, while he puts the tray down on the bed next to her, in the spot he vacated. She gets up on her elbow, and spots the jar; groans.

“Not this again.”

“Yes, this. Come on, you might _learn_ something.” 

She watches him demonstrate how to properly eat vegemite, because someone in this family needs to not be a heathen, and she watches him be comfortable around her, and she watches him not withhold the pleased sound he makes after he takes the first bite. 

And she thinks, you know, that’s enough watching. She reaches forward, and pulls him on top of her. 

Time for doing.


End file.
